When life spills your tea, throw it back!
by Ideas265
Summary: Pink Police/some Mafia or Gangsters/Summary: Life as an officer is hard. Seriously! You have a partner/brother. You have to take medication to control your wild side. And, when tea is spilled, you freak out! Kirkland has a weird private life, but it doesn't get in the way of his life as a crime fighter. Especially when his "someone" is at stake.
1. How it all started

**This chapter is basically a filler of how the title of the story became what it was. I don't own Hetalia, and I'll try not to put too many fillers in this story.**

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Arthur stared at the blank page before him. The evil little git! He had work to do—solving crimes with his partner/adoptive-younger brother, Alfred, taking his nightly dose of medicine to keep Oliver at bay, and finishing off that ping pong challenge against Yao. Hand on his shoulder joint, he rolled it around before doing the same to the other. Sipping his cup of tea, Arthur scribbled little pictures of fairies around his paper.

_How the bloody heck am I supposed to say what happened? That dang American Alfred cleaned up the mess before I was able to do any observations! _Sipping his tea again, he started stabbing words, meaningless words. Bland words that'd spoil freshly brewed tea. And, maybe some scones if Francis wasn't blocking the kitchen door earlier.

Finishing off his tea, Arthur cracked his fingers and busted out writing. From the leftover trash he found from the scene, he was able to draw a rough sketch in his mind. From "interviewing"—_cough_—his fellow officers that night, he had a rough idea of what happened.

"I need my tea," Arthur sighed. Getting up, he walked to the kitchen. The hallway was dark and quiet. He could hear the soft taps of a few officers typing away their reports. The moon was out and about, and an owl was swallowing a rat right outside the window. Great…

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed a pack of green tea and dropped it straight into boiling water. Bringing it back to his desk, he stabbed more words onto his paper. Then, his table began to wobble. A loose nail? Was someone playing DDR Max downstairs? Who was shooting at the targets this late at night?

Then, the dreaded happen. His cup of tea…spilled. It bled through his paper. It soaked his pencils and pens. Bits dripped down onto his pants. Did he care about the mess? Nope. His tea…his beautiful sweet tea…it was gone!

"When life spills your tea, throw it right back!" he snapped, slamming his fist onto his desk, collapsing it. He looked at it, then, a light bulb came to his head. "_When life spills your tea, throw it right back! _Hey guys, I've got a quote to share!"


	2. On the other side

RECAP: Arthur made an interesting quote over spilled tea. NOW: Okay, we saw the light side of the night, but what's going on with our favorite pairing, I mean, favorite crime fighting duo=Roderich and Gilbert.

Disclaimer= Drinking is bad for you, because it'll make you do stupid things. Don't do what Gilbert did with his gun.

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It was dark. The usual evening crowd disappeared into shops and buildings as midnight ticked near. The soft meows of the alley kittens were muted from the sound of a piano from _Mc Beth's Jazz Bar. _When the last few notes thundered down, the drunken crowd clapped, whistled, and hooted. Bowing politely, the pianist went backstage to change.

Pulling his knee-length coat on, he opened the back door and walked into the alley. His phone began to vibrate in the stillness of the night.

"What is it?" Roderich sighed, putting the phone on his shoulder.

"_Kesesese_…How ya' doing, Rodester?" slurred Gilbert. "_Ja_, can you pick me up from the park?"

Roderich grimaced in disgust. How this obnoxious German became his partner, he'll never know.

"Wait for me. Don't leave. Sit down at the bench near the entrance," Roderich muttered.

"You need to speak looouuder! Your voice is breeeaaakking up!" Gilbert hollered into his phone's receiver. Roderich placed his phone at arm's length, wondering when Gil would shut his trap. Then, Gil's voice got quiet in a hurry—was _his _breaking up?

"Gil…_Gil_!" The phone line went dead. _Great, _Roderich shook his head. Slipping his phone away, he ran to the town park. The gate was locked and chained. Pulling his sleeves up, Roderich took a few steps back before running to the gate, jumping, and twisting his body over like those action-movie figures. How Gil got in while drunk, he'll never figure that out either.

Straightening his coat and adjusting his glasses, he looked around and saw no Gilbert. _Where did that German go? _Hand in his pocket; Roderich looked around trees and bushes. He used his phone's flashlight to inspect the tree tops and the dark areas. But, there was no Gilbert.

Was it his imagination or was someone stalking him? His trained ears could hear it. Each step he took, that someone did the same. Each time he looked back, that someone would slip away. Sighing, he pulled out his gun from the inside of his coat, pointing it to an elk tree.

"I know you're there. Give it up." From the tree, a figure slipped into view. They, too, had a gun in their hand.

"_Nein_, you should give uuupp~" the figure slurred. From his pocket, he pulled out a police badge. "See this badge? I'm an officer. Stand down and I won't shoot ya legs off."

"Gilbert, it's me, Roderich!"

"You're not going to shot me, right?" the albino said, stepping into the moonlight, gun still pointing at the Austrian. Roderich placed his gun on the ground and raised his hands into the air. Then, _and only then_, Gilbert dropped Roderich from his kill-list, but his gun was still pointing at his partner. "You have bad signal. Ya should check that phone of yours."

"Sure it's not you?" Roderich asked, reaching down to put his gun away. Gilbert nodded, walking over and wrapping a lazy arm over his partner's shoulder.

"Let's get out this crazy before I regret drinking."

"At least let me call the Chief," Roderich mumbled, pulling out his phone. What? He only had ten percent left! But…his phone was at seventy five just a few minutes ago… "Wait for me at the gate. I need to use the phone booth."

"Why not use my awesome phone?" Gilbert pouted.

_Heaven only knows how filthy and germ-ridden your phone is_, Roderich thought, pushing Gilbert away from him.

"Just wait for me, Gil." Gilbert rolled his eyes but did what he was told. Roderich tiptoed out and found an English-looking phone booth to his right. Opening the door, he picked up the receiver and started dialing in the office's number. A few rings later, a voice picked up.

"When life spills your tea, throw it right back," squeaked Arthur, who was busily reading how to repair his collapsed table. His voice in a darker tone, he added, "Who is this?"

"Roderich Edelstein," Roderich mumbled. "May I please speak to Chief?"

From the phone, he could hear Arthur sipping his tea through a straw—_slurp, slurp, slurp_. "Identification, location, and passcode, _Mister 'Edelstein'_."

"You know who I am!" Roderich snapped.

"How do I know you're not a dirty thief?" Arthur said. "Are you really that snobby, Austrian pianist?"

Was this Brit mocking him or what? No, he had to keep a cool head. Hands shaking, Roderich grumbled the information into the receiver.

Meanwhile by the gate, Gilbert was busily studying his gun's barrel—by studying, that meant he had the barrel right up to his face. He looked down the tube and puckered his lip. Drunk or stupid, Gilbert giggled, his finger right on the trigger.

"_I wouldn't do that._"

"Huh?" Gilbert turned around, but he got knocked back by someone's hand. The person used their arm to hold Gilbert in place as they stuffed a napkin dripping with drugs right up to Gil's nose.

Gil kicked, squirmed, and tried to yell, but the drugs—or the liquor he drank earlier—was too much for his soggy brain. His head drooped and so did the rest of his body. With their gloved hand, the person carefully pried the gun out of Gil's hand and pocketed it, staring at an oblivious Roderich—who had no clue he was next on the list.

"I'm on Malbury Street, red booth with the old fashioned phone," Roderich said. "Code name: _OneHitWonder_. My partner's Gilbert, aka _AwesomeEast_."

"I'm sorry. I can't let you talk to Chief," Arthur popped.

"Get her on the phone, Kirkland!" Roderich yelled. "Our officers need this information."

"Okay, I was going to send you through anyway," Arthur joked, tsking. Putting the receiver away from his ear, Roderich twirled the phone cable like a distressed teen confessing to her love. The little light in the phone booth flickered before burning off. The only sound he heard was Arthur dialing the Chief's number. Wait. Where were Gilbert's giggles?

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a gun pointed right at his neck. The gun gestured downwards as if saying, "_Drop the call if you want to live._"

"Hello, Roderich? What do you need to tell me?" Chief's voice rang in. Roderich gulped. _Great…Gun pointed in one direction, and Chief's call on this end._ _She can wait_, Roderich decided. Hand in his pocket, he spun around and whipped out his gun, yelling,

"Don't screw with me!" His eyes widened. In front of him was a cloaked figure—gun in one hand, Gilbert's unconscious body in the other. The figure cocked the gun and pointed the barrel to Gilbert's head.

"Hello? Is this phone working? Hello?" Chief rambled.

Roderich couldn't say anything. Shoot and possibly get Gil hurt, or, get shot in the line of duty. He bit his lip.

"You cold-hearted maniac," Roderich growled under his breath.

The figure pushed Gil to Roderich. Roderich dropped the receiver. He grabbed Gilbert. The figure took a shot. Roderich pushed Gil out of the way. The bullet pierced his chest. He fell. He crumbled. Lying on the ground, Roderich tried to stop the bleeding. Blood was everywhere. The figure shot him again. Roderich's arms fell to his sides, trembling.

Pulling out a napkin, the figure wiped Roderich's blood off his coat. He picked up the receiver and placed it back on its stand—ending the call. Carefully, he opened Gil's hand and fitted the gun into it before closing the phone booth and leaving.

Roderich gasped and gasped. Gil was lying right outside the door. He had to kick it open, but he lost too much blood. He grunted and tried to block his wounds, but before his hands could get there, everything went black.


	3. Questioning

_3:00 a.m.…_

Chief stared down at the folder in front of her. Pictures of the phone booth and Roderich's bullet wounds were shot from different angles. The 'dirty' gun was photographed and taken to the lab for research by Francis, Ivan, and Yao. Blood sample charts of both Gilbert and Roderich were also scattered into the hot mess.

And then, there was him, the man in question, _himself_. Gilbert Beilschmidt—wheezy, under the influence, and under shock—sat right across from her. A plate of donuts separated the two. Chief knew Gilbert. She did. The way his beady red eyes seemed to melt away under her glare. How the albino kept cool as he munched down on a pink donut with sprinkles… She knew him too well.

Closing the folder, she tossed it across the table—the charts and photos spreading everywhere. Slapping her palms onto the stainless table, she whispered,

"Tell me exactly what happened, Gilbert. That's an order, officer." Before he could answer, the door flung open and Arthur Kirkland busted in, pot of hot tea and steaming, homemade scones in hand.

"When life spills your tea, throw it right back~" he sang, pouring a cup of tea for chief and Gilbert. Placing a burnt scone in front of them, he spun around the room like a ballerina in the _Nutcracker_. "Isn't tonight just grand?"

"Shut up and take your seat, Kirkland!" Chief barked; setting her scone on fire with a match and lighter. Gilbert stuffed the hazardous scone down his sleeve and poured the Brit's tea into a plant pot.

Frowning, Arthur took his seat next to Chief. Sitting back down, Chief smacked her palm against the table again, like a judge would do with his gavel

"You're both probably wondering why I summoned you this early in the morning. From Arthur, I got a phone call from Roderich, but he didn't respond to me when I answered. From my own curiosity, I sent officers to where the call was coming from. From there, we found you, Gil, on the ground with a gun while Roderich was in a bloody mess. Luckily for him, the officers got there in time to get him help," she added, seeing Gil's hands ball up. "Short and sweet, you're both here for questioning about the event."

Arthur stood up, knocking his seat back. "By all means, Chief, I shouldn't be here."

"You're staying, Kirkland. You spoke to Roderich before forwarding me to his call. What exactly did he tell you?" Arthur shrunk under Chief's harsh stare. Sitting down, he mumbled,

"He said he had information to tell you, but I had to question his identity first. I had to check if he was really who he claimed to be!" Arthur yelled, voice echoing in the small room.

Chief bit her thumb. Shooting a look at Gil, she asked, "What happened to you? There were traces of alcohol in your bloodstream." Gil tensed up before spilling the beans, starting from getting some drinks at a local bar.

"…then, I heard this small voice behind me and a napkin was shoved up to my nose," Gilbert recounted, half an hour later. "It smelled funny too, Chief. Like there was knock out drugs on it." Chief drummed her fingers on the table. Rambling as it was, this was valuable information. She had made up her mind.

"Gil, you can leave. You've been through enough for one night."

"_Danke_," Gilbert bowed, getting up. Arthur stretched his shoulders and got up too, yawning.

"Kirkland, you're staying here. There's one more thing I have for you," Chief whispered, grabbing the Brit's sleeve. Arthur slid back into his seat. Chief waited for Gil to leave before putting a hand on Arthur's knee.

"You're an officer of your word, correct?"

"Yes."

"You joined this business because Alfred, your brother, did, correct?"

"What does he have to do with this?" Chief put her hand up to quiet the Brit.

"You're his partner, correct?"

"Yes."

"You wouldn't mind if I put you on a solo mission, correct?" From her jacket, she pulled out a folder, stamped: _Top Secret._ "The world needs you back as a crime fighter for justice. No more screwing around setting the kitchen on fire. And, you owe Gil and Roderich a favor. Whatever that Austrian wanted to say, you're the reason why he didn't say it. I'm holding you accounted for this, Kirkland." She slapped the folder across his chest.

"Go and visit Roderich. I heard he's conscious now."

"Aye, Chief."

* * *

Roderich was awake alright. Slow and groggy, but he was awake, alive, and 75 percent okay. Bandages were wrapped around his chest, and a blood needle was hooked to his arm. He was reading a book when there was a knock on his door. Opening it was Arthur Kirkland, the one man he _didn't _want to see ever again.

"What do you want?" Roderich croaked, snapping his book shut. Arthur kept silent as he took a seat by the fallen officer's side. His bangs covered his green eyes and he bit his lip.

"It's too late for me to apologize to you, but I will avenge you. I promise. Please, give me the information."

"That's between me and Chief. I lost my trust and respect for you hours ago," Roderich said, matter-of-factly.

"Give me another chance. Don't view as 'that guy that stalled you over the phone and got you shot by some criminal'. View me as a fellow officer. You wanted to pass the information to another to save lives. What if I was one of those lives that didn't get saved? And, all this happened because you wouldn't tell me anything."

"Guilt doesn't work on me," Roderich said, adjusting his broken glasses.

"It's lucky the bullets missed your heart," Arthur smiled. Pulling a bag of pills from his pocket, Arthur stuffed one into his mouth and swigged it down with a bottle of water. "Well, it's nice knowing you're okay. I have some work to do later. Courtesy of the Chief," he added.

"Just like the rest of us officers," Roderich said, arms folded. Arthur nodded, giving Roderich a salute.

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For my faithful followers and whoever's reading this story, I won't be continuing it. Yes, someone can steal it and use my idea. Yes, I might not work on this story, but hey! Miracles happen. I might come back and upload more chapters. Unlike my other "novels", I can't bring myself to delete it. (Sigh) Thanks for listening to the ramble. It took me days to figure out how to write this author's news-thingy-ma-jig…wait, it's called an UPDATE!

One shots are my thing, but I have this idea…It'll be called BridesMaid (yep, that's how it'll be spelled. I know Brides Maid is **two **words) Look out for it. I'll upload the "movie" poster on my DA (DeviantArt for y'all non-drawing peeps) Thanks for listening! Ideas265 is out.


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